


Under the influence

by nemo_r



Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: Intoxication, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nemo_r/pseuds/nemo_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alaric is drunk, Damon isn't <i>yet.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the influence

**Author's Note:**

> From a comment_fic prompt by [](http://scripps.livejournal.com/profile)[**scripps**](http://scripps.livejournal.com/)

Alaric reached out before he'd consciously made the decision to, palm settling over the top of Damon's glass. “Should you be doing that?” He raised his eyebrows, covering his flash of nerves by following through. Fixing what felt like a concerned frown onto his face.

“Should you?”

Damon glanced pointedly at his hand and raised an eyebrow in return. Of course he could raise just one at a time. Even facial expressions cowered before The Eldest Salvatore.

Alaric blinked. Aware his thought processes weren't following a logical train there, but not sure when exactly they'd derailed.

“That's your...” He counted backwards, a frown appearing on his face. “Fi-sixth?”

Damon smirked, Alaric's hand fell to the bar as Damon slid the glass out from under it. “Seventh.” He tossed it back and Alaric’s gaze got tangled somewhere in the dark curls of his hair, the way his neck arched, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Right.”

He began tapping his fingers absently. Right.

He drew back, slipping slightly on his stool. His free hand curling around his own glass, the warmth leaching from his fingers for a second before he raised it. Damon's hand slipped carefully around his wrist, halting the movement.

“Maybe _you_ shouldn't.”

Damon's hand was cold. Coffee and blood run it's course and alcohol may stave off the cravings, but it did nothing else for dead flesh.

Alaric breathed shallowly, lowering his hand to let the glass rest back on the bar.

Damon didn't release his wrist. “You're in here more often than I am.”

Alaric tilted his head sideways, not wanting to give Damon a chance to read his face full on. “Not many other places to go in this town.”

Damon didn't say anything. Let the silence stretch and lengthen. Slight pressure on his wrist.

“It's not like I need it.”

And Damon raised that eyebrow again.

“I mean, the cravings.” And how did he end up facing Damon exactly, fumbling his words as he attempted to clarify.

“I know what you mean.” Damon slipped off his stool, moving into the space between them, the grip on his wrist loose, but present.

He studied Alaric's face, eyes smooth and distant. Alaric stared back, not sure what he should be looking for, gaze trailing across the planes of Damon's face, the red blush of his mouth. He licked his lips. “I should...” He tugged his arm out of Damon's grip. Took a couple of steps away.

“Third.”

Alaric paused, turned to look back at Damon in confusion.

“It was my third.” Damon closed the distance between them once again, his hand this time reaching for Alaric's elbow, tucking his arm into his. “I lied,” he said airily and began to walk them out. Alaric following along, half instinct, half thanks to the grip on his arm.

“Why?” he asked as they exited the building, cold night air breathing a little sense back into his head.

Damon shrugged, an expressive - _why not?_ And Alaric couldn't stop a roll of his eyes. Not fond. Exasperated. Exasperated roll of his eyes. That seemed important. “I don't like you.”

Damon cut his eyes sideways, again with the eyebrows. His arm tucked tighter over Alaric's

“Okay.” He sounded like he was smiling, but Alaric couldn't see it on his face. Not that Damon's face always equalled his thoughts.

“You lie,” he said, nodding wisely.

A bright grin suddenly appeared on Damon's face, chasing the shadows off into his hair, and he laughed, rough and short. “I do.”

Alaric, thoughts scattered and caught by that smile, stumbled along a couple more paces, frowning as he tried to remember the joke.

Damon slid his hand smoothly from Alaric's and he stumbled, hand reaching out and hitting the dry stone of the wall. He looked about himself -- darker here, the alleyway. He shot Damon a look that didn't quite reach suspicious, but managed maybe a little, around the edges. “What- what do you want, Damon?”

Damon smirked. “Ah.” He stepped closer again and really, how much space was left between them if he kept doing that?

“Why do you keep doing that?”

Damon tilted his head a little. “Doing what?”

Alaric raised his hand to gesture between them, but the move was blocked by Damon's body and he ended up with his palm on Damon's shirt, fingers tucked under the edge of his jacket.

“Not cold.” He thought... there was a reason he thought he would be cold.

Damon hummed his agreement, leaning forwards carefully, raising his hand to brush a curl of hair behind Alaric's ear, thumb sliding against his cheek.

Alaric breathed in sharply, let his head fall back against the stone. There were a scattering of stars visible in the sky, just faint pinpricks against the town's light. Looking far away and...

“... hear what I said?”

“Hmmm?” Alaric turned his face towards Damon. His lips brushed along Damon's unexpectedly smooth skin, stopping at his lips. Which, well if you're lips to lips, kissing is the right thing to do, isn't it?

After a moment Alaric turned a little to the side, catching a breath. “Only polite.”

“What's only polite?” Damon asked, whispering the question against the corner of his mouth.

“I, don't know.” He could feel Damon's lips curve into a smile and he pressed the next kiss against it, pressed the expression into his own lips.

The stars were blooming now, after images of white and red as Damon kissed his way down his neck. Hooked his hands into the belt loops of his pants and pulled Alaric in towards him.

A flash, shivery bright as he felt teeth graze the fragile skin of his neck and his eyes flew open, the stars from behind closed eyelids fading back to pinpricks in the sky.

He could feel his heart beating, a shuddery thump in his chest. Could feel every stroke of Damon's tongue on his neck, every teasing graze of his teeth.

“Damon.” He tried for a reprimand, barely managed a moan, and his hips jerked forward.

“I”

“Want this.” Damon mouthed against his skin. And Alaric wasn't sure whether he was agreeing or disagreeing, a wordless gasp escaping his lips.

Damon bit. One hand sliding smoothly between Alaric's legs, the other curling around his neck to hold him still.

 _Yes._

Alaric's eyelids fell shut and he shuddered in Damon's grip, heat pooling in his limbs even as his blood poured from the wound in his neck.

It shouldn't feel good. Pain like that should cut through the pleasure, not enhance it in a drunken mess until he couldn't remember which was good and which was bad. Until all he could feel was a rush of _sensation_ that had him gasping, rutting up against Damon and finally, finally, falling back in a messy sprawl, pinned between the wall and the hard planes of Damon's body.

Damon raised his head, lips and chin stained with blood. His blood, Alaric's blood.

“Mine.” Alaric growled, muscles loose and relaxed.

Damon grinned, the expression looking all the more wild for the red covering his skin. “Mine.” He agreed, bending his head to Alaric's and licking the taste of his own blood into his mouth.


End file.
